


I'm Underneath Your Skin

by ab2fsycho



Series: Revolve [16]
Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: I Have No Idea What's Happening, M/M, Sexual Content, and so he sorta took over from here, because des didn't behave himself, but apparently des does, i think the professor liked it, it's ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 07:48:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2460524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ab2fsycho/pseuds/ab2fsycho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Descole or Desmond: that is the question.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Underneath Your Skin

Des was on the verge of hyperventilating, sitting on the edge of the bed with the glasses in his palms. He'd managed to calm Layton enough to get him to rest and eat (Flora's cooking was atrocious and he would never let her be alone in the kitchen again while he was here). Because Layton had been incoherent at the time, Flora had offered to help him ensure that his injury had not once again opened in light of the activities of the day. It had not. While she'd checked, though, he remembered telling her, “Next time you think we should talk, you don't have to lock us up.”

“It seemed right at the time,” was all she'd replied with. He couldn't deny that her plan had worked on some level, but didn't want to encourage such behavior as imprisoning fellow housemates. Layton would be upset if that became a habit of hers and Layton was upset enough as it was.

Flora had been more upset with Don Paolo than she'd let on. When she'd returned, she'd been nearly ready to knock down a building herself. While Des questioned her choice of friends, he imagined that she surrounded herself with such men because she could somehow match their temper and intellect should she choose to. She simply chose not to in favor of remaining a good complement to the professor and his renowned manners. One thing was certain, he was glad that he wasn't on her bad side at the moment though he was honestly expecting to be. It wasn't until she'd thanked him that he realized she was grateful for his defending the professor and therefore could overlook his own not-so-polite actions.

With the professor resting, Des couldn't help but confront the part of himself he'd long entombed. It seemed that in Layton's presence, Desmond Sycamore had begun to exhume himself despite how deeply Jean Descole had buried him. It was Descole lying in that tomb now. Des knew this because the mask no longer felt right. It did not bring him the immediate comfort he needed to keep the skeletons and demons within himself at bay. He was afraid the glasses would invite them to rear their heads, though. He was afraid of reassuming his truest identity, even if he knew Layton was correct in that it was safer.

He glared at the mask, which also sat before him. He was struggling. He needed to choose. He couldn't walk around the house blind forever. Not with Flora and her horrible cooking skills at large. He needed to step up, if not to take care of himself then to help Layton until it was time for him to be off. The problem was that neither the mask nor the glasses felt right in his hands. He just couldn't bring himself to decide which lie he would make his truth.

Tossing the glasses onto the nightstand, he rubbed his face with one hand. This was a well of issues he had not anticipated having upon returning to Layton's side, and he was in so deep he might just drown. In fact, this whole situation had been unexpected. He was sitting on the same bed as the professor and had the option of going to sleep with him. That was . . . _way_ more than he'd ever dreamed of getting upon his return, for lack of better phrasing. He supposed an identity crisis was miniscule compared to that, but it felt like he was about to be launched into a new set of problems if he didn't decide who he was soon.

“Just close your eyes and put them on.”

Layton's voice startled him so horribly that he jumped. Before Layton could apologize, he turned to him and said, “You should be sleeping.”

“I can't sleep while you're pondering.”

“You can hear me think now?”

“The gears in your head are incredibly loud.”

Des smirked. “Yours aren't so well-oiled either.”

He resumed glaring at the glasses. Layton sat up behind him, leaning his forehead against Des's uninjured shoulder. Des couldn't stop from smiling at the contact, closing his eyes and forgetting what he was concerned about. Then Layton said, “I'm ashamed of what happened earlier.”

At least he didn't apologize, which seemed to be a compulsion the man had. “You weren't the one being rude.”

“I know, but . . . he brought up something I should be able to talk about by now.”

Des shook his head. “You can't believe that. You'll be ready to talk about it when you least expect it. It'll come out when something mundane strikes you in a certain way that reminds you of what you've lost. And I assume, just from what he kept blethering on about, that you lost someone very dear to you.”

Layton nodded against his shoulder. Drawing closer, the professor proceeded to hug Des from behind. Des rested his arms on the other man's, closing his eyes again and allowing himself to just be. Changing the subject, Layton asked, “Think my suggestion will work?”

“Hm?”

“Closing your eyes and putting them on?”

Des tensed up, opening his eyes to find both mask and glasses staring back at him. It was like even inanimate objects were waiting for him to make a decision. “I can't. I have to work my way up to it.”

“It looks a bit too stressful for you at the moment.” Des almost shuddered over how raw his voice sounded from the emotion he'd expressed earlier. “Besides, it's late. You may as well wait till morning.”

Des sighed. “I'm afraid if I don't decide now, I never will.”

“Here's my other suggestion: leave both of them on the nightstand. When you wake up and reach out, the one your hand lands on is the one you should choose for the day.”

Des thought about it for a long moment. “That's . . . not a terrible idea.”

“Good. Now turn off the light and let's go to sleep.” While he did turn off the light and settle into the covers so that he was facing Layton, he was not tired. When he revealed this to Layton, the professor sighed. “Honestly, neither am I. I'm just hoping sleep will make all the thoughts stop.”

“I have bad news for you, then,” Des told him.

It was his turn to hear the professor's gears turning. Silence passed between them before the man admitted, “For all the things that have happened to me, I've never had nightmares.”

That was odd to Des. “How fortunate.”

“I don't think so, actually. It has a tendency of isolating me from those who relive bad memories involuntarily. It's almost like . . . the events never happened and therefore my feelings surrounding the matters are invalid.”

Des laced his fingers with Layton's, hoping the motion comforted the other. “No feeling is invalid.” He squinted. “You had nightmares as a child. I'm certain of it. You're saying as you got older, you just . . . stopped dreaming?”

He felt Layton nod. “Doctors say its a result of a number of head injuries. They also say that's why my memory is so terrible.”

“Head injuries?”

Layton sighed. “Despite what Paul told you, not everyone is very fond of my persistence in trying to solve cases. I received several beatings over one case in particular.”

Des's anger rekindled. “Which case?”

“It was seven or eight years prior to your time as Descole. Nothing . . . nothing you did.” Though he wanted to continue asking, he felt he shouldn't. Layton added, “One beating was so severe my family begged me to drop it and move on. So I tried. It was the one case I hadn't solved for the longest time. Until . . . recently.”

Des assumed it had to do with what Don Paolo had been ranting about, so once again he didn't ask. Instead, he released Layton's hands to embrace him. Layton accepted it, allowing himself to be held. Des closed his eyes, and was soon overwhelmed by Layton's scent. He wasn't completely aware of his hold tightening on Layton, but when he became aware Layton was drawing closer. They were silent for the rest of the night.

:)

At some point they both had fallen asleep. Layton woke first, unsure of when the quietude had turned into actual rest. He believed he was getting enough rest to make up for the lack thereof since Des's arrival. Speaking of Des, he was still fast asleep with one hand on the professor and the other buried under a pillow. Layton looked over at him to see his brow furrowed and the muscles in his arms and legs twitching in unclear patterns. He suspected the spasms may have played a role in waking him up. Every few seconds, a whimper would escape Des's parted lips. Layton reached out to touch the other man's jaw, unsurprised that stubble was beginning to grow on Des's chin. His thumb caressed the cheekbone before reaching out to smooth out the creases on his forehead. When he did this, some of the spasms ceased and Des's breathing steadied. Layton smiled at the now relaxing man.

He tried not to think of everything that had happened, most of which having been more than overwhelming for both himself and Des. The one thing he did willingly recall was how quick Des was to defend him, and how old feelings for one another had been dredged up. Those were still rather dangerous thoughts to be having, but they were the kind he could handle at the moment. Barely, actually. It was still a little more overwhelming than he originally thought, really.

There was a moment where he didn't think he could do this. He didn't think he could go forth with a relationship. Why? For one, Des was going to have to leave again. Not now, but eventually. Two, he was not in the right mindset to be in a relationship. Finally . . . he couldn't even bring himself to think of any of the other reasons he knew were going to come into play sooner or later.

Reaching for Des's hand, he was about to pull it off his chest when he got caught staring at him sleeping. His palm lingered on Des's and he froze, watching the other sleep. Layton watched his chest rise and fall, fingers running over his hand and wrist. After a few more minutes of watching him, he realized there was no way he was going to be able to get out of this. The very idea of getting out made his heart stop.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was doing the exact opposite of what he'd intended by grabbing Des's hand: he was pulling Des closer to him and placing his lips on the other man's. He intended for it to be a short kiss, little more than a peck, but Des came awake with a long inhale through the nose and responded to the kiss by sliding his hand to Layton's back and pulling him closer. He deepened the kiss, pressing harder and more forcefully. Meanwhile Layton couldn't bring himself to pull back. His mind fogged as Des introduced his tongue to the kiss, an involuntary moan escaping him. Then Des's leg slid between Layton's and the professor finally had to pull away long enough to get some air down to his lungs.

Des's breaths were just as labored, a smirk creeping onto his face before he whispered, “That's a hell of a way to be woken up.”

“Wasn't my intention,” he admitted.

Before he knew what was happening Des had positioned himself above him, knees pushing Layton's legs apart. Layton gasped at the intimacy, whimpering as Des ran his hands up and down his sides. Des leaned down and kissed him again, and the professor found himself pushing up against him. Des pulled back for breath this time. “You know,” Des whispered, “I kissed you while you were sleeping once.”

“Did you?” The words came out breathy.

“I did.”

“You should have woken me up.”

Des chuckled. “You would have punched me then.”

“Oh, I doubt I would have punched you. Been confused, yes, but punched?”

“That's right. You're a gentleman.” He ground his hips against Layton's, and Layton let out a cry that forced him to cover his mouth. “You're always so proper.” He punctuated the last word with another grind, and the professor found himself biting down on the palm of his hand to keep from vocalizing too loud. Then Des pulled Layton's hand free of his mouth and mashed their lips together as he found a rhythm.

Layton's hand tangled in Des's hair, holding him in place as his hips moved in time with the other man's. Layton's vision began to cloud and he was lost, so lost in this moment that he forgot who he was with. He forgot, but remembered as soon as his fingers extended to a face that bore no mask. Pulling away just a little, he reached up to kiss both of Des's eyes. Des sighed, movements slowing but not really stopping as it appeared that he, too, forgot what he was doing. When they resumed kissing, their lips were less fervent and more studied. It was like relearning the way the other tasted, reevaluating what they had thought they'd known well.

Their lips separated momentarily as they each tried to find their breath again. In the midst of gathering his wits about him, Layton asked, “How hard was it, not saying anything to me on the Bostonius?”

“Hmmm,” Des murmured, “not so much saying anything. It was more difficult not _doing_ anything.”

“Like what?” the professor asked.

“Mostly,” his hands dipped down under Layton to grip his posterior and make the professor gasp, “not grabbing this.”

Des reached down to free their members of their pants. Layton's head went back as soon as Des's hand touched his. He might have whimpered when the hand left him had it not been immediately replaced with the Des's cock. “Is that all?” Layton asked, huffing between the words as Des started thrusting again.

“Oh no,” Des admitted. “I would have bent you over the control panel if I thought I could have gotten away with it.”

“You'll have to—ngh,” he was met with a particularly hard thrust that knocked the words from his mouth.

Des picked them back up, though with some difficulty because his breathing was erratic. “Oh I'll show you. Trust me.”

They moaned as their hips moved in time, grinding into one another in a desperate bid for release. Layton could feel the tightening in his abdomen long before he found his respite. Grabbing Des's face again, he pressed their lips together and this time his was the tongue gaining entry into another's mouth. Des sighed, a ministration escaping into Layton's mouth as he explored the territory with his tongue. Their lips didn't separate when either of them came as they instead groaned into each other's mouths. Their bodies went limp, arms wrapping around each other and lips locking. Layton had enough sense to be careful with the placement of his arms, but not enough to push Des away. That had been the complete and total antithesis of what he'd anticipated upon trying to push Des away. Fortunately or unfortunately, he wasn't quite sure which, he'd enjoyed every last bit of it.

When their lips finally parted, Des let out a long exhale that tapered off in a manner Layton recognized. “You're going to feel the aftereffects of this rather painfully.”

Des nodded, resting his forehead on Layton's. “I'm feeling it now.” He reached for the nightstand, fumbling for something. “I was not awake enough at the time to think that through.” When he pulled back, he slipped something onto his face and . . . .

Layton watched as brick-colored eyes widened behind the pair of red-rimmed glasses.

They stared at one another for a while, realizing what had happened. To his great astonishment, it was Des who grinned first. Layton returned the smile. “Hello,” he said, greeting the familiar elder professor.

“Well how about that. It actually worked,” Desmond said. He was stunned, Layton could tell.

“Is that good?”

There was a pause as he thought about it. When he answered, he answered honestly, “I'll say it's not as bad as I thought.”

“Good,” Layton nodded, hugging Desmond Sycamore tightly.


End file.
